


Residue of a Torturer Inside of Your Eyes

by apackofsmokes



Series: Clownin' Around [6]
Category: DCU, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Batman, Bloodplay, Costumed Villains, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Genderfluid Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Masked Vigilantes, Mental Instability, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 05:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9705794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apackofsmokes/pseuds/apackofsmokes
Summary: “Don't you think you're being a little overdramatic?” Theo asks, brushing a forever stubborn lock of his viridescent hair back into place.Stiles’ fluid movements don't falter. “Why would you say that?”Theo eyes the ridiculous sized mallet slung across Stiles’ shoulders, squinting. “No reason.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I s2g the next part will have plot, but until then I'll be buried under all this TRASH ;D
> 
> Happy V-Day! <3  
> (could mean Valentines, could mean Villainous boyfriends)

**_The Lair of one Theo Raeken and Stiles Stilinski_ **

 

Theo stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, yawning. He eyes his lime and blond hair, his pale skin marred with ink and healed bullet wounds. He favors the one on his left shoulder, a nasty gift from Stiles.  
  
There are times where he can't help but feel otherworldly, much like Beacon itself. Scarred, relentless, destructive. Realistically, he could just fix the damn chemical leak that seeps into the lair discoloring its occupants' skin, but really who has the time? He lets out a breathy giggle and scritches at his prickly cheek.  
  
"Stiles!" He yells, getting no reply. This time he sing-songs, walking back to their bedroom, “Stiiiiiles.”

His voice booms theatrically as his footsteps stay soundless on the blood stained carpet. They’d have to be that way to compete with every bat in the belfry.

The easily excitable sidekick in question is burritoed within a mound of blankets and pillows, snoring softly, spiky red-tipped chestnut hair peeking out. He sighs; it's the exact way he left Stiles five hours ago when he went to fuck around in his lab.  
  
Because if he doesn't get Lydia her formula this week, she'll find someone else and that just won't do. He'd hate to burn down the Beacon Botanical Gardens.

Again.

Stiles gets so fussy when he upsets that walking rose bush.  
  
Now, how would Stiles wake Theo up? Ah, that's right.  
  
Theo digs out Stiles' gun from under his pillow and fires at the ceiling, cackling when he hears screams from the henchmen upstairs.  
  
Stiles snuffles adorably, "I'll fuckin' kill you…” but doesn't wake.  
  
Theo groans, tossing the gun on the bed, "Christ.” Leaning in close, he whispers in Stiles' ear, "Sweetheart, if you don't get your slutty little ass up, I'm gonna shove my dick so far down your throat, a sword swallower would be impressed.”

Stiles pops open one eye and smirks, “Is that a promise?”

“Think of it as incentive. How long have you been awake?”

“Since you touched my gun.”

“What's yours is mine and what’s mine is mine.” Theo smacks him on the forehead and starts walking back to the bathroom. “Come on.”

Stiles rubs his face and follows, mumbling, “I really don’t think that’s how that saying goes, Boss,” from between Theo’s legs after he’s hopped up on the counter. Stiles runs his hands up Theo’s sweatpants-covered thighs, “Mmm, how about you just fuck me instead.” He looks in the mirror behind them. “You know I love watching.”

Theo does know; he loves watching too. This is one of his favorite places to fuck Stiles – bending him over the sink, making the mirror rattle as he pounds into his boy. Their reflection shaking as much as Stiles’ thighs trying to hold himself up.

He snaps his finger in front of Stiles face and picks up a straight razor. “Focus. We have an important meeting scheduled. And if we’re late, I’ll chain you to the BCPD. I hear it’s supposed to rain tonight.”  

Stiles huffs as he foams up Theo’s jaw, drawing a heart then smoothing it back over. “Keep at that sweet talk and a guy might think you have affections.”

Theo wraps his legs around Stiles’ middle, pulling him closer. “It’s the contempt. Common mistake.”

Stiles hums thoughtfully while ignoring Theo’s razor – knows he’s always more comfortable with one of his toys in his palm – and pulls a smaller one from the case laid out on the counter.

A not so nasty gift from Stiles… for the most part.

He drags the metal over Theo’s skin carefully but with the ease of someone who does it often. “What’s the job? Who’re we meeting?”

“Scarecrow and his associate.” Theo hisses when Stiles leaves a nick. “I need something he has. Don’t get pissy ‘cause he tried to shove his hand up your skirt when he was your professor.”

Theo managed to flatter Harris enough to get him to agree. Not hard when the man is gagging for respect and attention for his life's work. If Theo didn't require his particular brand of villainy, he'd drop him on the steps of Eichen himself. Nothing worse than a bland and predictable criminal in Beacon. It makes them all look bad.

Stiles ignores the jab to when he was Harris’ TA during college. “I fucking hate him and his goddamn toxins. I’m a man of simple biological warfare, a little laughing gas here, a few rashes there. I don’t like shit messing around in my head.”

“Best not get in his way then.” Another nick, his nose twitches. “Quit it, I’m not your keeper. You can very well take care of yourself.”

“And the associate?” Stiles asks, flicking the blade in the sink. Soap and blood hit the water.

“Probably Brunski,” Theo says lifting his chin so Stiles can shave the other side.

“Ugh, that needle happy dickwagon.”

“How are you still scared of needles? You didn’t even flinch when I tattooed you. Twice.” Or when he lets Theo tear into him with knife after knife, countless toys, and on a particularly special occasion a 300 carat diamond they’d stolen from some Yakuza across town.

Stiles gently pats Theo’s face clean with a towel after he’s done. Hands and eyes lingering. He allows it with only a minor grimace.

“That’s because it was you, Boss. With love comes trust.” He drops to his knees and noses at Theo’s dick through his pants. “And I earned them.”

He did, Theo thinks fondly. After weeks of almost non-stop torture, Theo gave him the gang’s spade on his cheek, then the three diamonds splayed on his bicep. Badges of honor for survival… though he's sure it was anything but. He wonders how many more they can rack up, already feeling a carnal itch. That wild mania that appeared in direct correlation with Stiles freewheeling into his life.

Theo runs a hand through Stiles’ hair, yanking it back so his throat is bared, presses the razor he never let go of against milky flesh. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty with all that stupid.”

Stiles moans when Theo cuts at the same place as the first nick he received. “I thought we were on a schedule?” He says petulantly, but his eyes are hazy with lust.

“You were such a good boy, I thought you deserved your reward. But if you don’t want it–”

“No! No, I do. Please, Daddy.”

Theo thumbs at Stiles’ pink lips, parting them and pushing inside. Blood wells up around the razor, the blade having not moved from Stiles’ neck.

Stiles releases his finger with a nip and grabs at Theo’s waist, bringing his sweatpants down, only to kneel back in his first position.  

Theo gasps when he feels the blade press harder, surface skin splitting as Stiles takes him into his mouth. It’s wet and hot and fucking perfect. That mouth constantly reducing him to a mess. If he didn’t know any better he’d swear Stiles was trying to kill him this way as payback for every agony he’s inflicted.  

“Careful, Pet. Don’t want you bleeding out. Though, I might slice you open anyway, watch my cock sliding down your throat.” Stiles just swallows him deeper. He holds the razor steady, tacky redness covering it. His other hand white-knuckling the edge of the sink. “Fuck, _fuck_ … Are you touching yourself? You better fucking be, I wanna hear you choke. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Stiles nods as best he can without wounding himself further and not losing pace. Theo’s movements become erratic, but he doesn’t come until he feels Stiles’ shutter and let out a cry exactly how he was told.

After Stiles swallows and gives tiny kitten licks to Theo’s softening dick, he pulls Stiles up and presents him with the razor. “Spoil me why dontcha,” Stiles giggles at the request and tongues the flat of the blade, cleaning it in the filthiest way.

Theo can’t handle it, his body still pulsing with his orgasm. Throwing the razor to the side with a clank against the tile, he yanks Stiles forward into a kiss, tasting the salty copper of them both.

“Theo,” Stiles breathes into his mouth leaning away, “we don't have time–”

“Shut up,” Theo growls, slamming his mouth over Stiles’ once more, hard enough to spread fresh blood between both their lips. Theo laps at it, panting, his heart racing. He can’t get enough of this, never will. “Bed. Now. Unless you want me to fuck you on the goddamn floor.” He’s too worked up to even think about lube, so if Stiles wants to walk for the next few days he better get in the fucking bedroom, or Theo will make good on that threat.

Stiles must see the teetering control across his features – his tense shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest – and damn near sprints to his nest, digging out the lube from the bedside table.

Oh hell, they’ll be lucky if one of them isn’t dead before nightfall.

Stiles starts opening himself up – pillow under his lower back, knees bent, his voice a wreck. “We’ll never make your meeting in time.”

Theo thinks about Harris having to wait for him to show, knows he won’t leave because he wants something from Theo too.

“I’m the Joker, I do whatever I want _whenever_ I want.” He crawls between Stiles’ legs and knocks his hand away, sliding into his tight slick hole. “And if I wanna fuck my sweet– precious– pet,” each word punctuated with the roll of his hips forcing Stiles to claw at his biceps all the while whimpering his pleasure, “then who’s gonna stop me?”  

“Theo, god Theo…” Stiles sobs, “ _Daddy–_ ”

Yeah, Theo thinks, he’d keep anyone waiting for this. Maybe even Batman himself.

 

*

 

**_The Docks_ **

 

Theo whistles, hands casually in his pockets, Stiles dancing ahead as they walk down an alley towards their destination. They’re about two hours behind schedule, Theo wanting Stiles to be the level of compliant only reached after four orgasms and a nap.

He knows Stiles has a tendency to be especially mouthy around villains that give him the creeps, and no one more than Scarecrow. Theo assumes it's not just Harris’ ability to cause hallucinations, but that Theo would leave Stiles to suffer for his own entertainment.

He would.

It's been months since he’s heard Stiles scream with unbridled terror. The sound of a nightingale over a crumbling orchestra. Call him a romantic, but his heart quickens at the thought.

“Don't you think you're being a little overdramatic?” Theo asks, brushing a forever stubborn lock of his viridescent hair back into place.

Stiles’ fluid movements don't falter. “Why would you say that?”

Theo eyes the ridiculous sized mallet slung across Stiles’ shoulders, squinting. “No reason.”

By the time they reach the agreed upon meeting place, it's dark, the sky starless from Beacon’s ambient light. Theo loves the empty void where light should be. It reminds him how promising the destruction of humanity can be if they're able to block out entire galaxies from view.

Though he could do without the saltwater from the harbor to their left. It fucks with his suit.

Stiles twirls on the ledge of the seawall giggling at the crashing tide. Theo likes to believe that if he ever lost Stiles, he’d just have to look for the highest point in Beacon and there he’d be, pirouetting over the city.  

“Stop fucking off,” Theo growls, almost making Stiles lose his balance. That would have been a sight. Wet, clinging clothes on that deceptively powerful frame.

“Isn’t that why you keep me around?” Stiles blows a kiss, winking.

Fuck, it’s been less than two hours and he wants Stiles under him again, wants to rip him apart. “I keep you around to hench, so get with the henching and make sure nothing through that door is going to kill me.”

“What about me?”

Theo grins something wicked. “Every coal miner needs a canary, Sweetheart."

“Wasn't aware I looked like a Romero sister,” Stiles huffs, but kicks the door off its hinges. Honestly, it was probably unlocked. So fussy that one.

Minutes later, he hears Stiles’ voice echo from inside, “It’s all clear, Boss. Nothing here that could kill _you_ anyway.”

He swaggers in to find Stiles leaning against the wall, eyes narrowed skeptically at the documents Harris is bent over, Brunski at his back like a guard dog. Now, he recognizes Stiles’ snipe for what it was. No these two couldn’t kill him if they tried. “This sure looks cozy. Shall we get to it then?”

“Joker!” Harris grates angrily in his scratchy tone. “You’re late! I have more important things to do then wait for you to finish fucking your whore.”

“Do you?” Theo questions innocently. “Tell me, what could you possibly have your spindly hands in that I’m unaware of?” Are those crickets Theo hears? “Right, well, out of respect–” Stiles lets out a snort. Theo clenches his jaw. He’d prefer not to get blood on his person, but that boy is _trying. “_ Out of _respect_ for my companion, it’s only fair that he shows you just how worth it he is.”

Stiles is aware this is only a means to keep him occupied and out of Theo’s business. He just doesn’t know how much he’d oppose this particular plan, and Theo prefers to keep it that way. Nonetheless, from the corner of his eye he sees Stiles lick his teeth and ready his mallet.

Hmm, yes, definitely under him.

“Stiles!” Theo calls at the same moment Harris gives Brunski a nod to attack, and the two are brawling. Stiles deftly avoids Brunski’s needles while swinging his own weapon in for the kill, twisting away from a stab at his torso.

Theo once took Stiles to the ballet. Was as entertained watching Stiles be enraptured with every lift and spin as he was with the actual story. Stiles had ranted for days afterwards about how he could do that with proper training, how it would improve his fighting skills, his precision. And while Theo had no doubt that Stiles was correct in his assumption, he also believed that there wasn’t a single performer that could compare to Stiles’ fury. Contrastively unhinged and controlled – shoulders tense, hits unpredictable. It was art in itself.

But alas, duty calls.  

Theo ducks as Stiles flips Brunski over his head while delivering a kick to the ex-Eichen orderly’s side. Once Theo’s at the table where Harris is perched, he glances at the blueprints and equations strewn over the metal surface. Snatching a page from Harris’ stupid gloves, Theo snarls, “I thought this was completed? Does this look completed to you?! You have a half assed scheme at best! If I bring this to Lydia, she’ll see right through us, and I can’t do my part without her toxin. You fucking incompetent heap of kindling! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t strike a match, Farm Boy!”

Stiles pauses his beatdown at Theo’s raised voice. “Boss?” Poor thing looks worried. Theo pinches the bridge of his nose and waves Stiles off to continue his fun.

Straightening his lapels and reigning in his displeasure, Theo collects himself. “Here’s how this is gonna to go,” addressing Harris, he grabs the crook's dusty shirt collar, “You, are going to fix this shitty plan and have it brought to me by tomorrow at the _latest_. Or I’ll huff and puff and blow your ass to pieces, got it?”

Harris harrumphs in understanding, and Theo lets him go. “And my payment?”

Theo freezes. Ah, that. “Easy, you want to know what I fear.” Theo chuckles humorlessly. “I don’t.”

“You don’t? You don’t fear? Everyone has a fear!” Harris gives Stiles – who takes a nasty punch to the nose – a significant look. “We had a deal.”

“Yes, and your part left me unsatisfied. Doesn’t feel so good does it? Maybe you should take note from my _whore._ At least _he_ does his job.” Theo turns to the grapple. Stiles has Brunski down, choking him with the handle of his weapon. “Stiles! We’re leaving.”

“Sure thing, Boss!” Stiles says, with a hop to his feet, approaching them humming ‘If I Only had a Brain’. Harris flexes his knuckles in annoyance.

Theo smirks, “How ya doin’, Slugger?” Stiles is bloody and sweating, his ripped clothes flashing bits of pale skin. He’s fucking stunning.

“A-okay, Mr. J!” he answers promptly before wobbling where he stands, then falling flat on his face, Theo having sidestepped out of the way. What was he suppose to do? Catch him? Please.

Brunski calmly walks over and plucks a stray syringe from Stiles’ thigh. “That took longer than I thought to kick in. I’m impressed. Kid's got some kinda tolerance.”

A jolt of pride reverberates through him. _Yes_ , Theo thinks to himself, _he does_.

Outwardly, he scrunches his nose in disgust, “What was that? Is he dead?” That would certainly put a damper on an already terrible evening.

“Nah, just a sedative,” Brunski replies.

Theo pokes Stiles with his oxford – rolling a tad, but ultimately staying still – and quirks an eyebrow.

“Possibly an animal tranquilizer,” Brunski shrugs. “Should wear off in 7-8 hours.”

Theo lets out a long-suffering sighs, “Fantastic, now he’s useless for the rest of the night.” How hard is it to find adept lackeys in this city? Maybe he should put an ad on Craigslist.

Brunski leers, “I can think of a few uses.”

Theo raises both eyebrows, reconsidering. Point. But still he shoots the other men a scathing gaze. “Tomorrow, Harris. Do not disappoint me.” They both seem to comprehend his threat and shift uneasily. _Good_.

He hoists Stiles into his arms, cradling him as if he wasn’t drugged within an inch of his life. Like he said, a romantic.

Stiles starts drooling and he nearly drops him on the pavement. His suit! Ugh. But just as his hold loosens, Stiles nuzzles into his chest with a mumbled, “Daddy...”  
  
He supposes he can always have Tracy call the dry-cleaners in the morning, he concedes walking to the car.

**Author's Note:**

> [the trash blog :o](http://smokesforwolves.tumblr.com)


End file.
